


American Globs

by whatthefoucault



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Birthday, Domestic Fluff, Feelings, Fourth of July, I have No Excuse, Ice Cream, M/M, New York City, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, almost background clintkate, hastily written birthday fic, hawkeye squared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 02:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7386439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthefoucault/pseuds/whatthefoucault
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Objectively, he knew everything was fine. He knew they were fireworks, and that they were beautiful, and back in the day, he and Steve used to sit under the stars together and watch them light up the sky with wonder and delight.</p><p>But time had passed since then.</p>
            </blockquote>





	American Globs

**Author's Note:**

> I would never have forgiven myself if I didn't write something for Steve's birthday, and this is that story, for whatever it's worth.

Objectively, he knew everything was fine. He knew they were fireworks, and that they were beautiful, and back in the day, he and Steve used to sit under the stars together and watch them light up the sky with wonder and delight.

But time had passed since then.

First, there was all the time that he was not himself, and even the war before that. Now he was Bucky again, and grateful for it, but not unchanged by time. It never seemed worth keeping any strict track of days and months when he was on his own, so special days and celebrations mostly passed him by as he kept largely to himself, except for the loud ones. The worst days, though - usually New Years, he would later learn, or various national holidays - were the ones where Bucky would find himself eating cereal, or writing in his notebook, or taking a nap, when the sound of blasts from outside would have him strapping on his backpack and scrambling out the fire escape, finger poised apprehensively on the trigger of his gun, only to discover, once his breathing had steadied and he remembered where he was, that it was nothing but a harmless nearby pyrotechnics display, and not that his wanderings had at last been brought to their inevitable violent end. To say that living with the nagging awareness that any given moment could erupt into chaos and gunfire was exhausting at best; no amount of false alarms made it any easier.

But time had passed since then too, and things were better. He had a life, and a home, and Steve. Bucky downed the last third of his evening Ovaltine in one, tossed his tshirt on the laundry pile, and gingerly slipped into bed.

Steve rolled over and settled under the covers. Bucky swore he heard a little sound come from Steve's side of the bed.

"Steve, did you just fart?" he asked.

There was an uncomfortably long silence.

"... no?" said Steve, very quietly.

"Sure you didn't," said Bucky, curling into Steve's side. "What, super soldiers don't fart, is that what you're telling me?"

Steve sighed.

"There was a _ton_ of garlic in that spaghetti sauce," he conceded, draping his arm around Bucky's waist.

"Damn right there was," agreed Bucky, brushing his fingertips softly over the little trail of fur down Steve's belly, "and it was good, too."

It was a relief, though not unexpected, how easily he and Steve had snuggled back into each other's lives: indeed, the ease with which they transitioned from best friends to boyfriends, _that_ was a relief too. And then, just as Bucky was calmly drifting off to the soft sounds of Steve's sleepy heartbeat:

"So, what should we do for my birthday?"

Bucky froze. Oh shit, he thought. Fuck. The birthday. _Fireworks_. This was not good.

"Know where I hear's really nice this time of year? Montreal," he suggested. "Don't tell anybody I told you this, but Montreal does a bagel that's almost as good as ours."

Steve sat bolt upright and stared at him.

"Hey, that's enough," he said, in his sternest Captain America Voice. "Don't let's get carried away, Buck. And please tell me nobody's planning a surprise party."

"Well, if they were, they're not now," said Bucky, as Steve settled back down. "What do you want to do?"

"Just some good friends, a cake maybe, watch the fireworks," said Steve, smoothing his hand against Bucky's hair.

"Okay," agreed Bucky. He would just have to stamp down hard on any instincts to run or to fight. For the sake of Steve's birthday, he would.

\---

"What's next on the list?"

"Red, white, and blue sprinkles," said Bucky, scrutinizing the array of baking supplies lining the grocery store shelves. "Do they do these? Do you have to buy one of each colour?"

"How the hell should I know?" asked Sam, resting his elbows on the shopping cart's well-worn push handle. Trust Sam to choose the one with the wonky front wheel. He could attempt to drive it, then, and Bucky would pick out the party supplies. "So, what's the itinerary for the big day?"

"Private pancake breakfast, a nice day out, picnic, ice cream, birthday cake," said Bucky, throwing in an extra jar of vanilla bean paste along with the sprinkles, "and, uhh, fireworks."

"And, uhh, fireworks?" questioned Sam, steering the cart hard around the corner.

"Yep," Bucky confirmed. He gave his best, most convincing smile, which apparently came out significantly more pained than he had intended. Sam raised an eyebrow, and gave a thoughtful nod. Just fucking fabulous, thought Bucky.

"Is it the visuals too, or just the sound?" he asked.

"What," shrugged Bucky, absently scratching his metal arm.

"Look, it's not unusual for combat vets to be triggered by the sound of fireworks," said Sam. "Everything you've lived through? It's not surprising, and it's normal."

Bucky sighed in resignation. "But it's Steve's birthday," he said. "We always watch the fireworks together, so just... don't say anything. I can deal with it for Steve."

"And for some insane reason, he loves you very much," said Sam. "Okay, just know that I'm only doing this because I'd never forgive myself if I let you ruin one of my best friends' very special day, but I think I can get you something that can help."

"Thanks, man," said Bucky, placing a carton of eggs into the basket.

"Don't think for a second I'm doing this because I like you," cautioned Sam. "I'm doing this for Steve."

"It's fine," replied Bucky, "I hate you too."

"Good," said Sam. "What's next on the list?"

\---

The pancakes had been the fluffiest pillows of sweet joy, the picnic was miraculously sunshiney, and Steve was wearing a decidedly too-short tshirt emblazoned with NYC in big, shouty letters. The line for ice cream was about as astronomical as Bucky expected it would be on such a nice day, but Steve seemed content to stand arm-in-arm and slowly shuffle forward for as long as it took, until they finally reached the counter.

"What'll it be?" asked the perky, but clearly overworked young woman.

"Yeah, I'll have the, uhh, American Globs, please," said Steve. The woman nodded and turned to Bucky, who had been sufficiently preoccupied with making sure Steve was still having a good time, he had no idea what was on the menu. Bucky shrugged.

"Mexican chocolate?" he ventured, because any ice cream joint without a good chocolate on the menu was not worth shit.

Ridiculous cones in hand, the pair wandered back out into the sunshine.

"Having fun yet?" asked Bucky.

"You know," beamed Steve, taking Bucky's hand in his, "I really am."

Bucky had managed to suppress any trepidation so far, but sunset was approaching, and soon they would be stood on the rooftop with some of their very best friends, and with any luck, he would survive a fireworks display without incident.

\---

It was a small gathering: just Bucky and Steve, and Sam, the Hawkeyes were taking turns surreptitiously feeding their pizza crusts to the dog, unbeknownst to the other, and Nat was mixing up another pitcher of mojitos. Sam, having just helped himself to seconds of the birthday cake, presented Bucky with his ostensible solution:

"High visibility, safety orange, giant fuck-off headphones? That's the solution?" Bucky was alarmed. Steve had been enough of an oblivious meatball that he somehow spent years of his life apparently wholly unaware that Bucky was and always had been in love with him, but even he would not be able to miss safety orange headphones.

"These are no ordinary giant fuck-off headphones, Barnes," corrected Sam. "These are state-of-the-art Avenger tech giant fuck-off headphones. You won't hear shit. Can you lip-read?"

"I can probably try," ventured Bucky.

"Okay, good luck with that," shrugged Sam with a smile, taking a bite of birthday cake. "This is amazing, by the way. I can't believe you baked this."

"Thanks?" Bucky secured the headphones around his neck, and joined Steve, who had, of course, found the most perfect vantage point for fireworks viewing.

"Hey... Buck?" asked Steve, gesturing at his head.

"It's just," he started, and sighed. "The sound, it... doesn't agree with me."

"Why didn't you say so?" he asked softly, bringing his hands to rest on Bucky's shoulders.

"Because, dummy," said Bucky, "the whole goddamn city's gonna light up in honour of your birthday. I couldn't take that away from you."

"The fireworks are nice, but all I really wanted was to spend my birthday with you," Steve smiled. "You'd better put those on, I think they're going to begin soon."

Bucky pulled on the earphones, and just as Sam promised, all was utterly silent.

"I CAN'T HEAR YOU," shouted Bucky. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that just because he was suddenly profoundly deaf, everyone around him could hear perfectly; however, this seemed to remain far enough in the back of his mind that he could not suppress the impulse to shout.

"You ---- after ----," said Steve, or at least that was what Bucky thought was parts of what Steve might have said.

"WHAT?" he replied.

Steve just shook his head fondly, and pulled nearer. Bucky's eyes fluttered closed as he melted into the kiss. If there was a fireworks display lighting up the sky like stars exploding and galaxies being born, neither of them noticed.

**Author's Note:**

> [American Globs is an actual Big Gay Ice Cream](http://biggayicecream.com/) that's vanilla with pretzels, sea salt, and a chocolate dip, and it sounds so ridiculous that I'm super sad I'm not eating one right now.


End file.
